You're Lost, Little Girl
by The Guitar Slayer
Summary: Twenty years after the events of Dirge, Vincent attends the funeral of a friend. From there on out, he finds himself acting as a guide for someone first striking out in the world.
1. The Big Chill

A serene mist gathered between the headstones in the period just before dawn. A grave dug the night before in preparation of the advancing frost lay open, waiting for an occupant to be given into its earthen grasp.

Vincent Valentine hated seeing these things become more and more frequent. Especially for…

Her.

Being immortal for all intents and purposes had its downsides. Yes, he was aging now. Yes, he would die eventually. However, he still was moving far slower than any of his friends. Far, far slower. Twenty years had passed since he had regained most of his humanity; some vestiges of the demons and the experiments still lasted. Life as it stood was a luxury all the same to Vincent. There was some semblance of normalcy, of life before Hojo.

He supposed that the easiest adjustment had been for Red XIII…rather, Nanaki. Having found himself a mate, he was set to work at revitalizing his homeland and seeking out more of his kind. He was not content to have his life and leave his children lonely. So he worked tirelessly for conservation. Nanaki was still the seeker of the group. His mind begged for answers that were not always easily given, but the challenge egged him on. His days as Hojo's test subject were short, and while giving him the loss of an eye and a tattoo, the young creature took comfort in the fact that the horrible circumstances within themselves were temporary; nothing lasted forever, except for the Planet, and even that was shaky at times. Vincent had a feeling that Nanaki would not retire from his work on this planet until he himself was ready to return to it.

Retired….Reeve had set himself out to pasture, both himself and Cait Sith. Cait had been relegated to a child's comfort toy many years ago. To think that perhaps that baby would never know that his stuffed cat once saved the Planet. Oh, his father would tell him he helped, a bit, but no, never the full story. Reeve's position as a double agent was awkward to explain to the press, let alone his own children.

Awkward…something that once described the grand Empress of Wutai. Vincent knew her at sixteen, a girl riding the edge of becoming a ruler all too soon. He later found out that she kept travelling so as to avoid seeing her father – the father that intended to abdicate when he saw his daughter again. Her efforts lasted from the age of 16 to the age of 22. The only thing that could explain her sudden change of heart was a regal biological clock – it was "time." Yuffie was no longer was addressed that name by anyone except AVALANCHE. Her full name was on currency: Yulenia Fimora, her nickname derived from an amalgamation of the first syllables of her two names.

Nicknames….Spike, Chocobo Head, Blondy, Foo'….Dumbass (or perhaps that was simply his own personal, mental callname for him). Cloud Strife had garnered quite a few in his journeying. He had travelled much further than many of his former compatriots. Until the Geostigma, Vincent thought that the man would become just another lost boy, another person disconnected from most of humanity. He knew how that kind of thing went. But suddenly, redemption appeared in the form of children. Many of them. So many of them that could have gone down his very scary path – they could have become puppets and part of a mindless army. That was what Cloud needed to snap himself out of it. He needed an immediate, widespread legacy – by no means was he ready to be a biological father yet, but he found himself pushed into that "head of the house" position. He did finally become a father, however, seven years after everything had been settled.

Thankfully, the child and all the ones that came after him took after their mother. Tifa had been a mother since she was 18 and had met Barret with his lonely little girl in tow. Her job expanded to fussing over the entire squad, even himself. There was a saying about how someone could have a face that only a mother could love. That was the only thing that Vincent could use to rationalize how Tifa managed to love all of them – these misfits, rejects, and pains-in-the-ass. Tifa was radiant when she did become a mother with the man she loved. It was a long hard road, but the martial artist hadn't wavered once in her convictions. She had won the day over the dead woman in pink, the consolation prize for the runner up being the fact that Tifa's first daughter bore Aerith's name. That, and being reunited with Zack… he had to search for that name. Nobody had spoken of him or her for many years – there was no need with the pink ribbons.

The pink ribbon thing had been surprising the idea of the man who had known Aerith for probably the shortest period of time. Cid Highwind was rumoured to have a soft heart – sort of like how The Swamp had the Midgar Zolom. After its first appearance after the flower girl died, it started making more and more periodic appearances. One case was the pink ribbon. After they'd staggered out of the ruins of the Highwind and were transported out back to Midgar to help with the evacuation, Cid had disappeared for a period of several hours. Tifa had been worried that he was shell-shocked from the final battle and the loss of his airship. The man had waddled back after sundown, eyes somewhat suspiciously red, an excess of pink ribbons in tow. "We used to do this in the Air Force, when some guy bit the big one. Ribbon with his call colour and number." Cid seemed oddly reverently for a second….then he reverted to his normal self. He thrust the box at Cloud. "Put it the fuck on and I don't wanna hear shit about it. That goes for you, too, Vampy. Not my fault it clashes with that shitty cape."

His cape. He still kept it. Still wore it, even. Coming on 50 years, and he was still wearing it. Too many memories to just toss it. And it was no longer the burden of his nightmares that compelled him to keep it. It was everything that came after he awoke that made him keep it – the progress and the ultimately "good life," he tentatively called it. He didn't wear it today though. Red was a colour of celebration and life. This was hardly the occasion.

No, today he dressed in his blacks. The only colour he wore was his golden gauntlet…and it was no longer for his insecurities regarding the hand beneath. Scarred and maimed, it was fully functional, just not pretty to look at. However, he was quite happy to report that arthritis had set in upon it. He now used that gauntlet as a brace for it. It was the first sign of aging he had had, and he wore it proudly.

The ground crackled beneath him as he walked across the frosted grass. It was the first big chill of the year. He'd shined his shoes to Turk-standard – he could see his reflection in them. He wore the clothes that his friends knew him best in: the black double-breasted Russian tunic, and the trousers, tucked into his boots. He'd left off the matching armour; it simply wasn't called for here. Over this he wore a military winter trench coat. He'd found it in a vintage shop…and his mind went so many years back to when it was winter in Nibelheim…he'd taken Lucrecia skating for the first time. City girl that she was, she'd hardly ever seen a lake before, let alone skate on it. He'd immediately bought it, partially out of nostalgia, partially out of simple necessity for something other than the cape. He still kept his hair long, simply for fact that it displayed his second sign of aging: his first silver streaks. It would hardly be noticeable if he had lopped it as short as it had been as a Turk, and once again, he took pride in this.

Now he stood before the door. The sign to the right of the door read simply "Funeral Home." No nice names to soften the blow, such as "Eternal Rest" or "Green Pastures." He stared at it thoughtfully before rapping his knuckles on the door. A sombre, tight lipped woman answered the door. "I'm here for the dawn burial –"

"You're almost late. Hurry in and take a seat at the back." Vincent quietly stepped past the woman and went through the only door opened to him.

The chapel service was slowly coming to an end. He'd never been a huge fan of church. Somehow, he didn't see why he was supposed to pay his respects to a god that allowed (former) monstrosities such as himself to exist, nor why such men as Hojo were created. He quietly crept forward until he was at the sixth pew back. No one seemed to notice him. Nobody ever complained when he was late – they knew he would come when needed. And that time was drawing near.

There was Tifa, Cloud and their brood; Cid, Shera, and their son (too much like daddy); Reeve and one of his sons; Yuffie and her bodyguards; some of the local townspeople; Red and his mate, and lastly…..

Her.

It had been many, many years since he had last seen her. Her surrogate father, yes; the man travelled far and wide to ensure that what happened to his hometown would not be repeated. He was always ambitious, but he'd kept his private life private for her sake. He'd never invited any of the AVALANCHE to his home; if she chose to travel with him, she would see people. If people were passing through, they would call him on a spur-of-the-moment basis. He never wanted her to be bothered by the media – "What was it like growing up with terrorists? Saviours? The mentally disturbed?" Having AVALANCHE plan to see the two of them in advance would stir up the local press, and that simply would not do. Vincent allowed himself to be sought and called upon, but he never did anything casually or unplanned. Ergo, it had been many, many years since he'd last seen her.

However, his thought process was interrupted as the organ at the back of the chapel began to play a recessional hymn. Ah, he had to wait until the third verse before he could move into position, but he shifted toward the edge of the aisle. He looked over at Cid, who managed to make eye contact with him. "How you been?" he mouthed. Vincent nodded back at him and raised his chin at Cid's boy. Vincent put his arm out about the height of his hips and then raised it to his midchest. Cid nodded; the boy had grown a lot. Cid waved his hand over his head a bit; he anticipated the boy would be taller than he was.

Just then Shera looked up from her hymnal, and Cid hastily lowered his hand to his hair, smoothing it. She smiled, pleased at her husband's appearance. Vincent took note that this was probably the third time he'd seen Cid clean-shaven. The first had been on his and Shera's wedding day. The second was for the birth of his son. "Bad enough my kid already has a rash on his ass; last thing he needs is bristleburn, poor little shit factory."

Vincent smirked at Cid's hasty reformation. He tilted his head at Shera and pulled at the spare fabric on his pants; she's still in charge, after all these years. And then Vincent, just to be an ass, did a mock curtsy directed at Cid. To anyone else, it looked like he was bending slightly to replace his hymnal, but Cid knew better. His eyes darkened, and without thinking, he flipped Vincent the bird in the middle of church. Shera's radar went off like clockwork, and she elbowed him harshly in his paunchy middle, daggers of doom directed at her husband. Little Cid, the son, started giggling – Daddy was in trouble again.

Vincent 1, Cid 0, for the day. Lifetime record: Vincent 1,246, Cid 759.

The third verse started up, and the two men went forward. At the back of the coffin were Yuffie's two body guards. Then came himself and Cid, and then at the head of the coffin was Cloud and Reeve. Six pallbearers for their friend. As he reached his position and turned to face the congregation, he suddenly realized that this would be the last time he'd actually touch the man. Though it would be through a polished casket, it still was his friend.

Vincent reached with his human hand to rest on the dark brown lid. Funny how his nerves were tingling at this touch despite the fact he lived in one of these things for thirty years. Guess it's different when it's someone else's. His thin fingers glided up and down the glossy surface.

"In Pace Requiescat," he let his voice sound.

Sleep well, Barret Wallace.

Cloud's voice counted off as the six men stooped in unison to heft up the coffin. On three, they stood, the pairs of men braced against each other so as to bear the load. Inner hands on the inner shoulder on the man across from you. He could hear Cid sniffing from the other side of the coffin, and he felt the man's iron grip on arm. He couldn't imagine that she was doing any better. He couldn't see her with the coffin in his way as well as the fact that she had moved behind the casket to walk to the gravesite.

They exited the chapel, the dawn light making the ground shine like silver. The bitter cold assailed his face immediately, and for a moment, he wished he had the cloak's high collar to hide behind. Not today, though.

The six men, led by the preacher and likely followed by her, made their way toward the hole in the ground Vincent had passed on the way in. This is where Barret, hero, father, activist, leader, and friend, was to be buried, where he was to be returned to the planet and the Lifestream. The headstone was already there, bearing the name of his late wife, Myrna. It had been a long time since anyone had been to Corel. Barret himself had not been there since their grand journey, and Vincent felt some irony in knowing that the ground from whence Barret had come from was the ground to which he returned.

The rest of the affair passed quickly. At the very end, the children one by one tossed a flower into the grave on top of the casket. Vincent didn't like that part. Many of them looked like they'd been cowed into it by their well-intending mothers…or they just didn't understand what all of this meant. Vincent was of the old mentality that children had no place at funerals or weddings unless they were the children of the principles or directly involved themselves.

The last of them was Barret's own adopted child, though she no longer was a child by any stretch of the imagination. To this, therefore, Vincent made the exception to his rule.

Marlene had come a long way from the child that hid under his cape and asked many questions about his claw hand. She'd grown tall and wispy, a far cry from the pudgy little ball of energy that ripped through the Seventh Heaven. She'd grown out her bangs and kept her hair to shoulder length. While he had not seen her in many years, they had corresponded periodically. He knew that she'd gone to school for both art and culinary studies – not surprising.

Rather than the black everyone else wore, she was in lavender. A very simple column dress with its matching shawl. She seemed serene and reserved, somewhat surprisingly so. There was no evidence of tears. He and everyone else watched as she knelt to place her small bundle of winter blooms on the coffin. Marlene's lips gently pursed d as she raised her finger tips to them, bowed those same fingers forward, and then gently blew. "Goodbye, Daddy," he heard her thin voice say as she carefully rose to her full height again.

Yes, he decided. This was the same girl he knew from all those years ago – a breath of fresh air in an otherwise stagnant, uncomfortable place. Not to knock Tifa's bar, but at times, the climate between Cloud and everyone else in the room was unbearable.

And then it was over. The gravediggers stood by as the group broke up and started back toward the funeral home for the reception. Then, once all the children's backs were turned, they hastily shovelled dirt over the box and the flowers (they apparently shared Vincent's opinion; amused, Vincent noted that these men were indeterminately yet extremely old, much like himself). Vincent turned to watch the rest of his friends herd their broods back inside. He could hear Tifa asking her eldest boy to fish a tissue out of her purse so as to take care of the youngest girl's runny nose. He heard Little Cid squawk as his mother whacked his bottom with a purse; though his hearing was no longer as acute as it had been when he had the full use of his demons, Vincent believed he had heard the youngster pass comment upon his "monkey suit."

Cloud hung back a bit, looking on the grave at a distance, looking uncertain. Once again, Cloud seemed to be torn between staying with the living and the dead. He chewed his lip slightly, staring off into the horizon, past the grave, in deep thought. Vincent was about to move toward Cloud to usher the man back to where he should have been….

…but the spell was broken at the sound of a child's shriek. The youngest boy had taken a tumble and was now caterwauling at the top of his lungs. Cloud's head had whirled around toward to where his son had fallen and had darted without a second thought to his side. Vincent put his bets on scraped knees and a dire need of a hug. Cloud was kneeling on the ground and then swept the boy into his arms. Tifa had stopped her flock to wait for the last of her sheep to rejoin them. Now Cloud and Tifa mirrored each other, each carrying one of their younger children. Vincent could see from this distance that Cloud had bent his head in close to his wife's either to whisper that the child was alright or to give her a kiss. Good for him, either way.

"Vincent."

It took him a moment to register the voice and to recognize it, but he knew who it was by the time he turned around. "Hello, Marlene."


	2. A Breath of Fresh Air

"Vincent."

It took him a moment to register the voice and to recognize it, but he knew who it was by the time he turned around. "Hello, Marlene."

"I'm so happy you came." Her thin face shone as she looked up at him; while tall for a woman, Vincent was still taller yet as a man. "I know you always show, but you had me worried for a moment."

Vincent bowed slightly in apology. "I'm sorry, then, for the inconvenience."

Marlene shook her head. "It's not a problem. It's just the way you do things." She rearranged her shawl before continuing. "How have you been?"

"Quite well." Vincent decided that if this conversation was going to persist for an extended period, he would have to offer her his coat, as wonderful as he thought it was in this weather. She looked as if she should be cold, due to her thin build and her choice of attire today. He knew he always was…then again, he was sort of an undead stick. Perhaps he felt things more keenly in that respect.

"Last time I heard from you was about…six months, right?" Vincent nodded. "Sorry I never got back to you. Right after I received your letter, the gallery asked me for some work – from thereon out, it was a regular zoo!" Marlene smiled. "I've made it, Vincent. I am an artist," she declared proudly.

Vincent's lips curled upward. "I am very happy to hear that, but I think most of us already considered you an artist from you were small."

She gave him a puzzled look, but then she laughed. "I wouldn't call my crayon disasters art…fun, not art." Her eyes sparkled as something emerged from her memory unexpectedly. "I remember one day when you joined me in my 'art.'"

Vincent's mind reached back to call up the day in question. "I believe, however, you soon transformed that into a full interrogation regarding the state of my left hand."

Marlene giggled at the thought. "'Vincent, why don't you crayon with me?' 'Because it would get wax stuck in the claws.' I really did annoy you, didn't I?"

"You were absolutely merciless." Vincent looked down at the hand in question. "But you did wear me down."

Marlene nodded, her knees knocking slightly together as a breeze kicked up from the north east. "I stole your claw as a tepee for my Barbie, and we did draw a lot." Her eyes focused on a point far off as the image of her at her small table (her on a stool and him on knees) doodling, oblivious to the fact everyone had come home. Vincent had coolly looked up and nonchalantly gone back to complete his picture to the shock of everyone. Minus her, of course.

She was dragged out of her reverie by Vincent taking off his coat. "Marlene, if we are to continue this conversation, you'll have to stop your bones from clattering together." In one smooth movement, he'd swung the coat around her and had buttoned the top button, leaving her to do the rest. She hadn't realized that she'd been shivering that much, or that her teeth had been chattering; she was too caught up in her thoughts.

"Thank you." After taking the time to button herself into a coat that could have fit two of her, she continued. "Speaking of bones, how are yours?"

Vincent let out something would be considered a grunt by some, a laugh by anyone who'd known Vincent for an extended period. "The left side is worsening by the day – hence the presence of your old friend." He raised his hand and wiggled the fingers. "Had a tumble down a mountain about three months back. Nothing serious."

"Vincent…" Marlene's voice suddenly resembled Tifa's in a very striking manner. It was that warning tone – "tell me the truth or else" or perhaps "don't you start, mister."

"Sixty foot drop. Bruised ribs, torn rotor cuff, sprained ankle. Plus whatever damage the yeti den did before I escaped." Vincent acknowledged fully the truth of something once said by Cid: _"Arguing with a woman is like pissing into the wind. It just ain't gonna work out well."_ Hence he didn't offer any resistance to her questions.

Marlene put her hands on her hips as best she could in the coat – the sleeves kept falling out over her hands, and her hips were somewhat indefinable in her current mode of dress. She tried to imitate Tifa's patented "I hope you're sorry, or else I'm gonna _make_ you sorry" look, but she couldn't hold it when Vincent put his hands on his hips and fired back with one of his "Please stop embarrassing yourself" looks. She looked away, a large smile on her face. Once she regained her composure, she asked, "So you've been north?"

Vincent nodded.

"Anything new up at Bone Village?"

"The archaeologists are starting to find fully preserved Cetra buildings. They're keeping it quiet to avoid souvenir hunters, but the excitement is starting to get to even the most stoic of them." Vincent took note of the wistfulness on her face. "Have you been anywhere, Marlene?"

She sighed, a more wan expression on her face. "Same old, same old." She realized, after a few moments of silence, that Vincent was waiting for her to continue. "When I was younger, Daddy never let me go with him on his long hauls. I stayed either with Tifa or with Elmyra before she died." Her voice caught on the last word. Despite all of the comforting and assurances from her father and Mr. and Mrs. Strife, Marlene had seen the truth behind the older woman's passing.

Elmyra, Aerith's mother, had passed away almost thirteen years before; some said it was just her time, others said a broken heart. Vincent put more stock in the latter; if he hadn't already been technically dead, that would have certainly been his cause. She'd never been the same since her daughter had died. She had lasted as long as she was needed in the world, and with Marlene turning into a gangly, self-sufficient fourteen-year-old, her place on the Planet was more of a nicety than a necessity. As Marlene grew up, Elmyra grew old, and more than readily accepted her death when it came.

Vincent snapped himself back to the present as Marlene continued. "I started to travel with Daddy a little after that – I think that was the last time I saw you…" Vincent nodded. It had been about eleven years since he'd last seen Marlene. He supposed therefore that she'd been a late bloomer; she was still very much a little girl when they'd last met. "But then I went to high school, and you know that need to stay and have friends when you're that age. And then came college and art school and culinary school and ---" Marlene stopped herself. "Life just got in the way."

Vincent tilted his head to the side. "It doesn't sound like you are content with your choices."

Marlene hastily shook her head. "No, no. I'm fine. All the travelling I ever wanted to do, all the places I wanted to go – you did it for me." She folded her hands behind her back and stood up straight, as if she was back in school and reciting something for the class. "Wutai, Gongaga, Cosmo Canyon, the Ancient Capital, the Ancient Forest, Mideel, Icicle Inn, the islands, all those government areas, and all the places in between! You sent me what I guess could be travelogues on them – so detailed and so interesting. There must be forty or fifty back at home."

This surprised him. "You kept them all?"

She vigorously nodded. "I've kept all of the correspondence from everyone here, but you've always been most dependable. Everyone had weddings and babies and coronations…but you always remembered to write back."

Vincent rapidly started to mentally assemble a basic view of the world Marlene lived in. This could be heading down a road he didn't like…

"It was the polite thing to do. You took the effort to write to me, and so I returned the favour," he simply offered.

"You could have just brushed me off like you did Yuffie. She had _such_ a crush on you back then!" Marlene's eyes gleamed in amusement as she took notice of an almost imperceptible twitch on Vincent's behalf. "But you didn't have to notice me or be as nice to me as you did. You answered all my questions, you read to me, you let me sit with you during thunderstorms when I was afraid --"

"I believe what struck me about you, at that age, was the fact that you _weren't_ afraid of me." Vincent looked down at her as her temporary exuberance faded.

Marlene's eyes widened both at the fact that Vincent had interrupted her and… "How could I be afraid of you?"

"Everyone else was. Those early days in AVALANCHE – they regarded me as something to be careful about. You were too young to see what dangers I posed – you just saw the surface, albeit not the one most others saw."

Marlene bit the inside of her mouth as she mused. "'A lonely man in red with a yellow claw. And lots of black crayon."

Vincent nodded. "You didn't see me fight. You didn't see me doing what I did best – killing." Marlene opened her mouth to object, but Vincent overpowered her verbally. "I am a trained assassin that has been used a human guinea pig. I may be more, I may be less, but that's the rough sum of it."

Marlene's lips were a thin line – she'd known this about Vincent for awhile, heard in whispers at the bar, mentioned sometimes when he was brought in to get fixed up, but to hear him say it – it wasn't earth shattering, but still… "But you're a lot more than that, and you know that now, especially after you got rid of Chaos. You should know that when I was all cooped up, I really appreciated what you wrote me. I was at home, safe from Daddy's world, but still able to see yours…"

"My correspondences were never meant to replace your own experiences," was his gentle reprimand.

She shifted the weight of the coat around on her shoulders before answering. "I didn't think they did – they just took your place while you were gone. I know how Daddy was about people coming in, and I knew how you were about things, too, so…" She looked up at him again. "I figured that something along the lines of this would happen before I'd see you again in person."

Vincent's brow was creased in dissatisfaction. "Why didn't you go away to college?"

Marlene looked down at her feet. She was wearing very pretty shoes today. "I didn't want to be too far from Daddy…"

"He was always travelling."

"But he knew where I'd be. He'd never have to worry about me."

Vincent's jaw tensed. "Marlene, you were already an adult, and throughout your life, you've been probably one of the most responsible people I have ever met. I'm sure Barret would have understood if you wanted to go out to some place new."

Still examining her shoes. "Daddy was always worried that I'd get stolen again – happened twice. So I went to school – for all of my schools -- where he'd grown up – he knew that area…so he could find me if…"

"You were a child then. You grew up. You'd always been able to take care of yourself." Vincent cleared his throat and chose his words carefully. "As far as I'm aware, you are the sole heiress of Barret's estate. That gives you a lot of money to come and go freely – so much so that you could afford to be a bit reckless. Marlene – look at me."

Marlene slowly and warily looked up at Vincent. She looked to him like the little girl he knew again, being scolded. God, why the hell was he scolding her? "Marlene, it's time you ran away from home. You've been too good."

Her lips pressed themselves into a thin line and she slowly nodded. He could see the wheels turning in her head. "Daddy did leave a lot behind. And I am going to get rid of all the rest of his oil ventures – I don't want to have to deal with that….and I can do art anywhere."

Vincent felt a bit of weight lifted from his shoulders. She was all right after all. He was relieved. "You have a world to choose from. Perhaps my papers will be of positive aid for this." Marlene nodded eagerly, and he could see her starting to brim with excitement of being free. "Let's head in to the reception. I do believe that you are currently more resilient to the cold than I am."

The two of them started to move across the ground. It was no longer silver in the morning light – it had defrosted a bit and now the dew was thick and chilling. Marlene hiked up Vincent's coat so as to not get it wet. Vincent followed along behind her, amused. Not that he'd care if it did get wet (being as that was part of its purpose), but the visual of her still being so conscientious of puddles at this age still made him smirk.

She stopped short and spun around, letting the hem of his coat hit the ground again. "Vincent, I want you to go with me." She was absolutely glowing, and he wouldn't have been surprised if she had burst into song and dance when she said that. But there was something more to her – it was little something that added up with everything else she had said today.

The alarm sirens went off in his head. Unrequited childhood crush off the port bow. Fuck.


	3. The Dam Breaks Open

Vincent was relieved. "You have a world to choose from. Perhaps my papers will be of positive aid for this." Marlene nodded eagerly, and he could see her starting to brim with excitement of being free. "Let's head in to the reception. I do believe that you are currently more resilient to the cold than I am."

The two of them started to move across the ground. It was no longer silver in the morning light – it had defrosted a bit and now the dew was thick and chilling. Marlene hiked up Vincent's coat so as to not get it wet. Vincent followed along behind her, amused. Not that he'd care if it did get wet (being as that was part of its purpose), but the visual of her still being so conscientious of puddles at this age still made him smirk.

She stopped short and spun around, letting the hem of his coat hit the ground again. "Vincent, I want you to go with me." She was absolutely glowing, and he wouldn't have been surprised if she had burst into song and dance when she said that. But there was something more to her – it was little something that added up with everything else she had said today.

The alarm sirens went off in his head. Unrequited childhood crush off the port bow. Fuck. "I think it would be prudent for you to travel alone for awhile."

She still looked up at him with those eyes…"Oh, I don't want to be alone."

"_Oh, I know you don't."_ Vincent wanted to eat his gun at this moment. Load it, put it in his mouth, just blast his head off and save everyone the trouble. "I would think you should go to stay with our friends; I'm sure they would be more than happy to accommodate you."

"I don't want to trouble them – it's bad enough that I pulled them out here for the funeral…"

Vincent's stare pierced her. "Marlene, it is no trouble. They've known you since you could talk. Many of them longer than I have. They've seen you more often as well." He could see her paling by the second. This wasn't going well.

"But…I haven't seen you for so long – I was hoping that if we travelled, we'd do it together, to catch up…" Marlene couldn't understand this.

Vincent did _not_ like the use of the word 'we.' At all. He didn't do 'we' things at all. And he especially did not want to do 'we' things with his friend's daughter who had some interest in him– someone who technically could be his granddaughter, if all the math worked out. "I will stay for a few days so that you and I can do that. However, I would suggest making arrangements with the others here for your travels. They have stable, stationary homes. I do not."

Marlene began to shake under his coat. "O-okay." She cleared her throat. "They always did say if I needed anything…"

"Yes, they did." Vincent felt the alarm bells in his head fade somewhat.

"…I guess I sort of qualify for being in trouble now, don't you think?" Her voice was wavering, and she continued her descent down the greyscale.

"Trouble? You're safe here." He saw her go grey. "Are you sick?" She didn't answer; she just stood there, swaying slightly. The sight was unnerving to see her, so bright and vibrant five minutes before, just suddenly 'turn off.' "I'm going to get Tifa."

"No. Can't you stay?" Vincent winced on the inside as he looked at her. She looked like a glass angel that was teetering rather precariously on top of the Christmas tree.

"I'm not the best person suited for medical attention. I think you need someone--"

"Yes. Always." Her vision suddenly fogged up, and somewhere inside of her, the levee broke.

Vincent's heart sank as he saw her face crumbling. He was making her cry on the day of her father's funeral – God damn him. "Marlene…"

The explosion from her was violent. Shockingly violent. "Don't you understand? Nobody ever came for me or paid attention to me unless I was in trouble! When I was kidnapped by Tseng, when the silver-haired men took me, when Elmyra died – everyone cared then! Now Daddy dies, and here they are again to take care of Marlene. But what about all the in-between?"

That was when she started to sob. Hard. Her body was convulsing, and not because of the cold – his coat saw to that. Her hands were clenched in fists as she tried to will herself to stop crying, but Vincent could already see that it would be to no avail. Her teeth clenched as she try to speak her way out of it. "T-t-t-to see them – I-i-i-I have to b-b-b-e sick or n-n-n-need a sssitter or b-b-be d-dying…" She tried to keep her sinuses from running, but they did anyway, no matter how she tried to will them not to. "I-i-i-I _want_ to sssee them, b-b-but they w-wo-n't c-c-come unless I _neeeeeed._" The last syllable slid into a short wail that rattled her form to its core. She made fists so tight that her knuckles turned white, and she felt her nails draw her own blood as she dug into her palms.

No, he hadn't made her cry, but everything else in this world had. He was at a loss to do anything else but what was obvious. "Come here." He opened his arms for her, and she ran in, actually staggering him with her thrown weight. He felt her digging her fingers into his shirt, still trying to make a fist and be quiet and "mature." "No, let it go." He gently pried a single finger upward, and that was all it took. Her hands went limp at her sides and all of her weight fell to him. He gently wrapped his arms around her.

"You're the only one! You've always been the only one who…." Her breath started to hitch. "Only one who…"

Vincent didn't want to hear the next word that came out of her mouth. Maybe because it would be true and because he didn't want it to be true. She'd been dealt a bad hand, one that many had severely underestimated. "Don't think about it right now." He preferred her to be mindlessly bawling her eyes out rather than dwelling on what reality was. They'd all assumed that the good girl would only need them if there was trouble. They never counted on the good girl needing them because she wanted them. It was a luxury not many people thought of.

Looking out the window of the funeral home, perhaps through the eyes of Tifa or Nanaki, it would seem that the impact of Barret's death had taken its toll on poor Marlene. Vincent was capable, though. It would be good for him to take care of her. They didn't even think that Marlene needed all of them instead of Vincent.

Vincent felt her sobbing taper off some, and the girl snaked her arms around his waist. He'd allow it. He raised one hand to the back of her head and started stroking her hair, trying to get her to calm down further. Her breathing was still laboured, and the last thing he needed her to do was hyperventilate. "You didn't have to be nice. You just always were. Even when I didn't need you," he heard her squeeze out between gasps.

"Breathe. Don't talk." She heard him through his chest, those vibrations mixed with his own inner clockwork. She'd almost forgotten how comforting that was. It was how she got to sleep some nights when he visited the Seventh Heaven and she'd nagged him to read to her.

She loved him.

Marlene realized that she was somehow still standing on her own two feet. That was a bit of a comfort. She hadn't gone completely to pieces….nevermind the fact that she'd just soaked Vincent's shirt with a variety of fluids, cried about her life to _him_ of all people, all but professed her love for him, and done all of this within clear sight of the funeral home.

"I feel so stupid and little." She was in no hurry to leave his arms. That would mean looking at him and looking like a raccoon with her ruined eye makeup. Not to mention the idea of just facing him after all of that was intimidating.

"Join the club. We're all lifetime members here." He didn't feel like starting up another torrent of tears. "It's been a hard day."

Marlene nodded, rubbing her face against the worn fabric of his shirt. She remembered this from when she was little, too. "What do I do now?"

"What you wish. Not what you think I or anyone else wishes." Vincent slipped his left hand, the one that had been stroking her hair, to lift up her chin to look him in the face. "You need to go find Ms. Marlene Wallace and be happy with her. Nobody can help you with that."

Marlene's jaw trembled, and for a second, Vincent didn't know if he'd be able to take another flood without losing it himself. But she did pull through. "I understand."

A thought occurred to him. It could be enough….possibly…"Marlene, I propose a deal."

He heard her go "hmm?" into his shirt.

"I shall take up a permanent residence somewhere in the world. You may then correspond with me as I had with you. I expect the same quality of work…if not moreso from you, being as that you are a graduate of a university, unlike myself." His back tensed, partially from his prolonged standing position and from the apprehension as to a) whether she would accept this; b) whether this would actually be in her best interests rather than a pacifier.

"And you'll write back?"

"You did."

Marlene considered this. He could tell that she was by how her weight shifted slightly, how her eyes focused on an indeterminate point, how her breathing pattern changed slightly, and how her mouth twitched in thought. "Okay." The answer was so quiet that he almost missed it. But it was there.

"Are there any amendments you wish to impose?"

She shook her head. "It's fair. Not exactly what I wanted, but …"

He cut in hastily. "I do not mean to demean you, but I am not sure you know what you want. This day is not the perfect basis for forming such things."

Marlene pulled back from him slightly, taking a deep breath. She slowly drew herself up to her full height again. She started to extend her hand toward Vincent, but the coat sleeve kept flopping over. Without showing a hint of being flustered, she calmly unbuttoned the coat and handed it back to its proper owner. She readjusted her shawl and took a quick swipe at her eyes with her left hand, trying to get rid of some of the raccoony-ness that was bound to be there. With her right, she offered Vincent her hand. With his coat slung over his left arm, he gingerly grasped her right hand with his own and shook it. "Deal."

"Deal."

They stood there for a few minutes. They could no longer stay out here, but going inside was hardly a feasible option. Marlene briefly gave thought to pulling a Vincent – going back to the house and disappearing without another word to anyone. And Vincent always gave that notion a thought. Duty over want for today, however. She had kept her guests waiting long enough.

But first…. "Vincent?"

Vincent was shrugging his coat back on. "Yes?"

Once both of his arms were through the sleeves, she reached out and grabbed his hands. Looking him in the face, she uttered two words -- perhaps more appropriate than the three she had wanted to say since she was old enough to understand the concept. "Thank you."

Vincent nodded. This was what she needed – not a brush-off, not a pity party, and certainly _not_ him in the role she envisioned. Rather, someone to suggest a way. It then struck him how different this would have played out if he had been twenty years younger, twenty years colder. He had mellowed over the years. It had been evident with the ease he had in visiting friends or allowing them to "catch him." It had shown when their children clamoured around him like some raven-haired Santa during the holidays, always excited.

Which is why, therefore, it shouldn't have been overly shocking or mind-boggling when he carefully moved one foot forward toward Marlene and pressed his lips against her forehead gently. After he had stepped back, he said, "While I will provide you with maps, I expect you to find your own way."

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

They were still joined at the hands and both were deep in thought of these plans when a familiar voice rang out.

"Wow, I've heard of people pulling bridesmaids at weddings, but grieving daughters at funerals? Nice one!"

Vincent felt the back of his neck light up. Ugh. Cid. Marlene had already started to laugh, so it was no use in trying to use her as a guilt device. She slipped her hands out of his and disappeared into the funeral parlour to play hostess.

Vincent 1, Cid 1.

Vincent turned to face Cid with his hands on his hips. "Shit, Vincent, I know the ladies your age are in nursing homes, but come on! Barret's kid? That's fucking cold."

"She is twenty-seven, as am I."

Cid's eyes widened for a moment, and then he snorted and cackled. "Yeah fucking right. Your pasty ass hasn't been fucking twenty-seven in fifteen years. I'll give you 35 if I'm being generous. Hell, your hair's even whiter than the last time I saw you."

"At least it's there." Vincent calmly arched an eyebrow and glided past the dumbstruck pilot.

After the door clicked shut, Cid reached up and felt the top of his head. "FUCK. This shit fucking froze! I must look like fucking Spike in there. Jesus Christ, goddammit. Bastard TV presenters and their crappy-ass products made in goddamn Wutai! Fucking lowlife scumsuckers. SHIT!"

Vincent 2, Cid 1, for the day. Lifetime record: Vincent 1,247 Cid 760.


	4. Author Notes

Author's Note, Disclaimer, Etc.

All characters belong to Square Enix, minus Little Cid and the various broods I've tossed in here, along with Nanaki's nameless (so far) mate.

This story was oddly inspired during a late night fic fest with my friend fellow writer, SilverKnight. We were goofing off and sending each other horrible links to Youtube videos about Vincent and FFVII in general, including one with the Hot Chocolate song, "Sexy Thing." I did get my revenge on her with "Mr. Roboto."

After a few days of this, awww-ing over how cute Marlene was in hiding under Vincent's cape in AC, and the discussion of some of the more disturbing pairs people came up with ("The hell? Shelke? The ten-year-old?!"), my mind took a bit of a swan dive. At first, Silverknight thought it was me being a goofball, but then she essentially prepared herself for a cracked-out squick fest….

Which it didn't turn out to be after all. At least I hope it didn't. You are the judge ultimately.

For clarification, this is taking place twenty years after Dirge of Cerberus. This makes Cid approximately 55, Cloud and Tifa in their mid-40s, Nanaki 70, Reeve approximately 55 to 65 (never did figure out his exact age). Marlene is approximately 27 and Vincent closer to 80 timewise – biologically, he is aging two years for every five he lives. Ergo, he is only eight years older physically than he was in Dirge, 35 or so. A bit of premature aging with the silver and the arthritis, yes, but hey, you'd end up like that to if you went through what he did.

I classed this as a Drama/Romance. Drama, since the plot makes Vincent's life somewhat more difficult, and Romance because of someone else's perspective in the story – Vincent doesn't agree with it necessarily.

Reviews are lovely and aid a writer greatly. I'd appreciate a few. Enjoy.

Cheers,

GS


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